


Where my heart should be [coda for 15x03]

by Legendary-Destiel (Legendary_Royalty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x03 broke me, Alcohol, Angst, Broken Boys, Coda 15x03, Crying, Dean destroys things, Dean's POV, Destiel breakup, Drunk Dean, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Numbness, Sam tries to help, Sam's POV, The Mixtape, cas left the winchesters, coda 1546 but i wrote it anyway, dean isn't doing so well, dean's emotional abyss, deancas breakup, spn season 15 thoughts, the rupture, this is so sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendary_Royalty/pseuds/Legendary-Destiel
Summary: Cas is gone and left Dean to drown in his numbness. Dean wanders through the bunker until he breaks down completely. Sam finds him in Cas' room. (Another coda for 15x03, because we all can't get enough of the pain, right?)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 38
Kudos: 169





	Where my heart should be [coda for 15x03]

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I'm happy you came here to read my coda for the episode 15x03 "The rupture". Not much to say, I'm sure you know what awaits you. I really wanna say "enjoy", but well... Honestly, it's just a piece of pure angst and drama. *sigh* But yeah. Enjoy! ;)

What was that?

_Oh_. Yeah.

It was the final slam of the bunker door. Mechanical and definitely.

Funny that just now it occurred to him, that the hinges had to be oiled urgently. The squeaking sound echoed in his ears for another 30 seconds.  
He somehow watched himself, like a ghost from another corner, as he stared at the wrought-iron balustrade. That railing, attrite and dusty. But beautiful squiggles, truly. It’s a shame he never really risked a closer look at this unique craft.

The burning liquor found its way past his tongue, down his throat. The well-known whiskey-warmth spread in his guts. He couldn’t remember lifting his arm to take the nip. Apparently, the functions of his body weren’t entirely dead yet.

Unlike the functions of his mind. Or heart. Or his emotions. Because these? They were completely shut down. Definitely not existent. Like a dried-up stream of sensations that he once was able to feel. He just sat there, numb and frozen, strangely glued to the massive oak-table. Heavy shoes stuck to the floor like they were one with it.

Dean blinked and looked down to his feet to see some wet, red dots spattered on the planks, just next to his boots. He tilted his head, empty expression on his face. But of course, no one was there to see it.

What was that?

_Oh_. Yeah.

It was the blood. His own blood, tripping from his hand, because he had clenched the crystal so hard, that it broke. Some shards still protruded from his palm as he spread his fingers. They glistened in the dim light of the bunker, like some sort of creepy, red diamonds. Honestly? It had its own, astonishing beauty.

Dean couldn’t feel any pain. Nevertheless, he wiped his hand on his pants as he stood up and went over to the bottle of whiskey standing on the sideboard. The glass underneath his soles creaked with every step.

He grabbed the bottle with his bloody hand and removed the plug with the other. It was heavy and diaphanous, cut like a crystal star. Precious. He knew this thing since they moved in here. He made a fist around it and pressed it on his forehead. Eyes shut.

What was that?

_Oh_. Yeah.

It was the splintering sound of the peg, he must have thrown it against the stone wall with full force. Who needed this stupid thing anyway. Alcohol was there to be drunk. Not to be bottled up until better times are coming. Because – _spoiler alert_ – better times _never_ come. He took a long sip directly from the bottle. It almost slipped out of his hand. This fucking blood was dangerously slithery.

He examined the content of the bottle. It was almost half empty. That wouldn’t be enough. Luckily, he had taken precautions and stored some bottles of whiskey (and beer of course) in the kitchen.

Constantly sipping at the golden liquid, he somehow found his way to the kitchen. The table in here shone like freshly cleaned. What an extravagance. To have a table in your kitchen when there is hardly never time to sit there together. Always on the run, always on a hunt.

The sideboard with the coffee cups caught his eye. Here they used to brew coffee every damn morning. On days, when mornings were lazy but comforting. The feeling of waking up in a place they called home. Mornings, when they didn't knew what the new-born day might have up its sleeve for them.

Mornings. Tired and lonely sometimes, when the nightmares forced him to get up early. Those mornings, when Sam was still sleeping like a giant baby. But _he..., he_ had always been there to join him at his first cup of coffee on such mornings.

What was that?

_Oh_. Yeah.

It was the sound of breaking porcelain, cups and small plates - the ones with the delicate red border. And there - right in the middle of the shard pile? A ceramic painting of a sun. The mug, broken, sun-face still smiling up at him like a fucking joke. _His_ mug. The one Dean bought him some years ago at a rummage sale, while they were hunting in a sleepy town who-knows-where.

_G'mornin' sunshine._

_Hello, Dean._

He needed to get out of here. Without looking back on the mess he just made, he stumbled to the exit, plunging into the low-lit corridors. A six-pack of beer under his arm, and another bottle of whiskey with him. Just to be sure. He had no intention of enduring this night sober. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever sobering again in his life.

His _life_. What was this even worth? _Ha_. He scoffed bitterly. This couldn’t be really called a life, after all. This was a freaking reality show for entertaining some weird, sadistic, overpowering shit-head, who has nothing better to do than watching humans running around in a maze. Like rats in a lab. _No_, now's not the time to think about all the damn shit that happened recently.

Dean’s feet suddenly came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Of _fucking _course. His damn body stopped him exactly in front of the door of _his_ room. Alright, nothing more to lose. Let’s get the entire fucked-up happy-meal-program. He opened the door and stepped into the small room.

It was a long time ago, since the hunter saw this chamber from the inside. There wasn’t much to see, to be honest. A small sink under a dusty mirror. A blue plastic cup with a toothbrush. _Why the hell does an angel need… whatever_. A cupboard, doors half open. Two ties were accurately folded on one of the racks. The narrow dark blue one and the light blue striped one. What a variety. Dean scoffed again.

The nightstand was more... interesting. Damn, Dean could somehow feel his limbs again. Quickly, he took another long sip of the whiskey. Some books, all in Enochian. Alright. _Come on now_. There was a picture of him and Sam, they were laughing. They both looked to the man in the middle. Trench coat, midnight blue tie. Son-of-a-bitch was smiling too. Dean couldn’t remember that he could even smile like this. _Fuck_.

The bottle hit his teeth.

Dean finally ripped his gaze away from the nightstand and turned around. He needed to get away, off to his room at last, where he planned to immure himself until fucking _Chuck_ would come and get him in person.

Then his eyes fell on the bed. Pillow, virtually unused, the grey blanket folded perfectly beneath it. And in the middle of it, amazingly light as feather, the thing didn’t even sink into the fabric, a tape.

_The_ mixtape. His mixtape.

Left behind, abandoned, forgotten.

It looked so lost here on the enormous, empty area. The last proof that this was not just a terrible nightmare. He didn’t even feel the pain in his knees as his body broke down to the ground.

What was that?

_Oh_. Yeah.

This was the unbearable agony of a breaking heart.

***

Dean had planned that Sammy would eventually find him in his own room, utterly drunk, maybe sleeping, some empty bottles of beer on the floor. But as Sam left his room after the night, he found Dean in Cas’ room.

Sam thought he could never shut his eyes during the night, but finally he was knocked out by sheer exhaustion. He remembered hearing his brother wander through the bunker noisily, maybe even destroying things out of desperation. Sam was just too weak to react.

He heard his brother’s sobbing before he could even see him. The door wasn’t locked. Dean didn’t seem to have the strength to close it. At least one thing about Dean’s plan worked out: He was drunk. On a scale from zero to ten, this was maybe an... eleven.

Sam stood there for some seconds, frozen. A million thoughts flashed through his brain.

His big brother was not good with feelings. _Hell no, _definitely not. However, Sam was convinced that he knew his brother best and that he could read him like an open book. At the end of the day, Sam always knew how to deal with Dean’s emotional shades. They always had that kind of connection that grew with the years they spent together. Side by side, twenty-four hours, bunker, motel-rooms, Impala.

There were days, when Dean was in a real good mood. Happy, even. Although this was a long time ago, Sam remembered how Dean’s eyes shone bright and wide awake back then. His feet carried him across the ground, almost like he was flying. When Dean was excited for an ordinary hunt. When things went right and worked out, and they rewarded themselves with a night out in a good bar. Played some pool and enjoyed a couple of drinks. Maybe flirted with a girl. Put a dime in a jukebox to play a worn out rock song. Sadly, it felt like this Dean was from a completely different reality.

Sam thought about the relieved expression on Dean’s face, when they saved people. The thankful faces that beamed at Dean when they waved them goodbye, seemed to be like the only payment his brother would ever accept for their work.

Sometimes, Dean was just worried, concerned, and thoughtful. About himself, about a case, about the fate of the world. That silence was the most dangerous state. He was unpredictable and impulsive then, and Sam remembered it all too clear as Dean had killed himself without thinking about possible consequences, just to solve a case. Only because Sam didn’t watch him for one single second.

Sadness hit Dean quite often too. He always tried to hide it from Sam, but Sam knew. He always knew. The brokenness that he sometimes saw in Dean’s eyes was almost too much to bear. When they grieved for Dad. Ellen, Jo. Bobby. Mom. _Cas_.

That look in his eyes, in front of the pyre as they burned Cas’ body, was forever burned inside Sam’s mind. Since then, he knew it for sure. Cas was more than just a brother to Dean. The emotional break-down after, the suicidal behavior, _that smile_ when Cas came back… just some additional proofs.

But lately, the constant state Dean was in, was as simple as raw. Anger. Not much to analyze about that anyway. Barking, growling, being annoyingly sarcastic, that was the Dean he knew the last few weeks. Sam was so trapped inside his own emotional rollercoaster, he didn’t even try to talk to Dean about his impossible behavior. Especially how he treated Cas, was… unacceptable.

Sam Winchester shook his head and sighed deeply. There was Dean, cowering on the floor in Cas’ room, his back leaned against the bed. He held on to the empty whiskey bottle like it was the only thing that connected him to this world and insanity.

The room was a mess.

The closet doors were torn out. Bedsheets scattered everywhere. Sam thought he saw one of Cas’ ties lying around too. The drawer of the bedside table was in pieces. The splinters of the wood covered the bed sheets on the floor. There was a framed picture on the floor at Dean’s feet, but he couldn’t see what’s on it, because the glass was completely broken. The fine cracks stretched across the surface like a spider web.

A mixtape was there too, the brown strip ruffled around it. As he saw this little innocent thing, apparently violently treated by Dean, Sam jumped to his brother, who was still sobbing uncontrolled. He didn't even seem to realize that Sam stepped in the room.

“_Dean_!” Sam shouted a little bit too loud, because he was scared. Scared to his bones, because Dean Winchester doesn’t cry like this. He cries silent and in shock, maybe even hiding in his room. Dean never-shed-a-tear-if-you-can-avoid-it Winchester didn’t cry hysterically. But there he was, gasping for air, wet face, shaking body.

“Dean, what the hell! Look at me!” Sam put both of his hands on Dean’s shoulder and shook him slightly.

Dean looked up. Sam met his gaze and what he saw in his brother’s eyes, scared him even more. Red eyeballs, swollen lids, and a brokenness, so deeply anchored, he felt his own strength falter. Tears gathered in the corner of Sam's eyes, as Dean’s heavy breathing seemed to slow down, because of the calming heaviness of Sam’s arms.

“Sam…” Dean whispered with a hoarse voice. He tried to swallow down the tears.  
“Sammy, I…”

Sam put his arms around his brother’s trembling body and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Shhh…” he tried to calm him down. He tried to calm them both down.

"I know, Dean. I know."  
He breathed out and couldn't help but feeling a silent anger rising in his chest. Cas was gone. Gone because Dean said something unforgiveable. But he didn't say a word. He kept patting Dean's back and gritted his teeth.

Dean didn’t need to explain. Sam knew. He just knew that he screwed up, once and for all. The day had finally come, and Dean suddenly wondered why he had even lasted so long.

There was nothing left of him. He turned out to be just an empty shell, concaved from all the countless hurricanes he had to run from his entire life. His rivers were dried out, he was out of tears, just like as he was out of hope.

But Sammy was still here. He could let go. _Let it go now_.

The last thing Dean saw before his vision faded to black, was his brother’s worried face.

What was that?

_Oh_. Yeah.

That’s the pitch black nothingness of an empty hole where his heart should be.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel welcome to share your thoughts in a comment or leave me a kudo if you liked what you read! Your feedback encourages me so much and is appreciated! <3
> 
> If you wanna find me on tumblr, I'm [Legendary-Destiel](https://legendary-destiel.tumblr.com/) there.


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